Runaway Royals Prequel: Piccolo's Trials
by ShireWulf
Summary: Prequel to a story I am writing with a friend (not posted yet). Alternate Universe. Prince Piccolo's life of royalty is brought to an abrupt halt as his father's kingdom falls and the DemonKin are sold as slaves... Rating may or may not change depending on future content.


**This is a snippet of Piccolo's life before Runaway Royals begins. There will be more added to this as I go on and flesh out his experiences before meeting Princess Chichi. Enjoy.**

**AU. Very very very AU.**

* * *

Smashing, searing pain slammed into the side of his head, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground, in the mud, covered with sludge and blood. He tried to push himself up, but failed to coordinate his limbs. What was he even _looking_ at? Oh Gods, everything looked blurry and shiny all at once and _what was screaming and roaring and clanging and thudding?_ The prince gritted his teeth and forced his shaking limbs under his body, only to have them give out on him again. Piccolo cried out as he landed face first in the mud for the second time, swallowing foul tasting grit as he did so.

Finally, the Prince of all Demons managed to tilt his head to side, and slowly, _slowly_, the world began to return to focus. He was able to identify all of the horrible noises plaguing his sensitive ears.

Of _course_.

He was in the middle of a battle.

_How could he have forgotten?_

A flash of – literally – clashing colors drew he ruby eyes. Deep royal purple seared through an all too bright orange. For a moment, his black heart soared; his _Father!_ If only he could help, they could destroy this pest, this, this _Son Goku_, together! Piccolo struggled to regain his feet a third time, only to have a boot pressed cruelly into his back.

"Lie still or I slay you where you are, Ugly." The threat in itself would have done little – no, nothing – to freeze him, but there was no strength left in him. The lithe prince made no further attempt to stand; he could not have, with or without the human's boot crushing his spine. It was humiliating.

"My…Father…will slaughter you before…you have the chance," Piccolo panted, red eyes flicking to see his oppressor, and was mortified to see how diminutive was the man holding down! That ridiculous hair had to compensating for something. There was simply no blaming it as the result of a helmet.

The man's thick eyebrows shot skyward, and a vile smirk curled his lips.

"Oh really? Well, I dare say you had better pay attention then," the short man sneered, removing his boot from Piccolo's back and crouching beside the battered prince. His boot was replaced by his hand, which grabbed the boy's – for he was merely a boy, not even sixteen – jaw and forcing him to look at the scene before them.

Piccolo bit back a snarl of pain – he would not give the foul human the satisfaction – and watched.

What he saw made his eyes go as wide as the full moon.

It was impossible… but…

Son Goku could not be stronger than his _Father_…

Two titans slammed into each other like opposing waves, sliding away from the other just as smoothly as raindrops on glass. A tall, imposing, royal demon with piercing red eyes and an experience-lined face barely managed to block a deadly kick from a spry, young, dark haired warrior prince. King Piccolo, the Daimao of all his people, was losing to Son Goku. It was inconceivable. Daimao returned the kick with a knife hand – only to hit air, and be knocked to the side by a punch to the cheek. He recovered.

Piccolo, the prince, watched the duel with bated breath.

_Father…_

Goku's fist was followed by a kick to the mighty king's stomach, and then an elbow to his chest. Daimao's claws sliced the dashing prince's tunic, drawing blood across his muscled chest. It was but a small deterrent. It was over when Son Goku made his next move, and the King's dying ears heard but one sound.

"_FATHER!" _

Piccolo heard nothing, not even his own desperate scream of denial. The world around him seemed to slow, blur. It all became grey and hazy. Like he was under water. All his ruby eyes could see was his Father's body falling to the ground. It was taking far too long, surely it was some trick. A result of the…the… what had happened to his head? Piccolo writhed in the mud, wrenching his face free from the cruel hand gripping his jaw, and crawling through the mud towards his Father's…. No, it could not be a…

_Corpse_.

He had no idea how he had reached it, how he had come to clutch the once mighty hand – now lifeless, though still warm. He could not help the desperation with which he shook the body of the king. No, no…

Vaguely, he heard the voices of the victorious.

_What to do with him._

"Kill him, or he'll be a problem later."

"Vegeta, I can't – _you can't either_! He's defeated, done. He can't fight anymore. _Prince_ or not, _problem_ or not, the _warrior_ is beat. Killing him now would be murder!"

"You're going to get yourself killed one day by one of these sacks of garbage and I won't even feel sorry for you."

"Vegeta – "

"Fine, if you won't kill him, take him prisoner. Ought to be a good enough bargaining tool for surrender."

And then… No, they _couldn't_ be…

He felt himself being dragged away, and he made a snatch, a wild, seeking, and seemingly pointless snatch, at his Father's corpse. His fingers caught on something. His Father's earring. Squeezing his eyes shut as the amethyst earring tore from his Father's earlobe, Piccolo clung to it. Fingers curled around it. So help him, _they would not take this!_ Piccolo fought against the hands that pulled him, but to no avail. He was too weak, body spent.

"Father," the prince whispered, as several of Goku's men approached the body. With swords. Oh Gods. He was going to be sick. "Don't you dare, you bastards!" Piccolo snarled, thrashing violently and managing to loose himself from one of the hands, only to have several bodies force him to the battle churned earth, clap iron shackles around his wrists, and fit something cold…and… _Draining_… around his neck. Piccolo hissed in agony as whatever strength was left in his body wavered horribly. His vision wavered.

And the Prince of all Demons went limp, save the hand clasped around the amethyst earring.


End file.
